


All kinds of pointy

by TinyThoughts



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Funny, Geralt is supposed to go soft, Geraskier, M/M, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Short, Tumblr Prompt, did you know it is really hard to write insults?, i guess he got a little hard instead lol, i just learned that, its 2.30 in the morning, jaskier takes no shit, no beta we die like renfri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:06:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23993488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyThoughts/pseuds/TinyThoughts
Summary: Geralt is a very patient man. Jaskier is not. Geralt is used to being slandered and takes it in his stride. Jaskier does not. Geralt likes it when Jaskier goes all stabbystab. Jaskier does too.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 48
Kudos: 469





	All kinds of pointy

**Author's Note:**

> So this came from a prompt from Innocentcinnamonpun on tumblr!   
> "Funny interaction with feral!Jaskier being outraged over peoples treatment of Geralt who’s soft ™ for his protective bard? <3 thank you "
> 
> I kind of strayed from soft to hard though..... xDD
> 
> Also it's 2.30 in the morning and I regret every decision that lead me here.  
> Enjoy!

Things have most definitely changed since the bard entered his life. Calm nights at the taverns is but a memory. Wherever they go Jaskier sings loudly, flirts shamelessly and demands that every eye focus on him when he performs.

Most of all, Jaskier accepts no insults.  
None at all.  
And it turns out that this flowerysmelling man with a garment in every possible colour is fierce while defending their honor. Geralt quickly learns it is a safety measure to not give Jaskier a dagger. Less dead bodies that way.

It happens all the time. A snide comment in passing, a raging youngling with too much confidence, an innkeeper denying them a room. Every time it does Jaskiers hackles rise and his eyebrows get all kinds of pointy. An indication of murdertime and for Geralt to step in and save some lives.

His bard is truly not to be trifled with. It warms him in all kinds of ways that probably isn’t normal. He is not used to feeling cared for like this. It’s nice. He keeps those moments in a special place in his mind.

When Geralt is alone he still thinks back to the moment when someone dared tell Jaskier red is not his colour. It still cracks him up, honestly.  
 _“You will regret saying that, you impotent, slow witted, assfaced ratsarse!”_  
The face of a snarling bard, eyes shining with rage, is a terrifying thing to behold.  
If Jaskier had fangs, he would without a doubt have ripped the offenders throat already.  
And if Geralt weren’t actually holding onto his doublet at those times, he might very well have tried.

Smiles can be a deceiving thing. You are not safe when Jaskier smiles, no matter the fluttery feelings it might have given you.  
Like that time Geralt insulted his singing.  
“Like a fillingless pie, you say?” Jaskier swaggers up to him, a smile stretched across his lips, his eyes taking in the witcher, up and down. “Alright. I can take criticism.” Geralt knows for a fact nowadays that he can’t. He didn’t know then. He wasn’t scared of that smile yet. Jaskier puts a hand on his shoulder, takes a breath.  
“You know, that song I wrote about you? Toss a coin and all that? Let me write you a better one, my dear witcher.” Patting his shoulder and walking past him, Geralt feels a false sense of security.

In the next tavern they set foot in, Jaskier performs a song about the benefits of chamomile for tender witcher behinds.  
Geralt never, ever remarks on Jaskiers singing again, and the song is blissfully forgotten.

~

They are in a tavern in a nondescript small town somewhere in the south, their patrons a loud and brutish sort. It is almost tradition that at least one patron throws an insult at Geralt in these kinds of places. He would be more worried if they didn’t, it would most likely mean that they were planning something worse. Insults are good.  
And when the insult came, he was lulled into a false security.

Jaskier gets spitting mad again and stops his performance mid song to actually throw a piece of bread at the brute.  
Geralt smiles into his drink, expecting this to turn into a shouting match. Jaskier is extremely good at outwitting tavern lowlifes.

Sadly, there is no shouting match. There is nothing actually, and the evening carries on without more disturbances.  
But when Jaskier goes to take a leak he is gone for a suspiciously long amount of time. He can see all the barmaids and there are no men that seem to be Jaskiers type here tonight (the slightly older, brawny type, preferably with a longer hairdo he noticed) that have gone missing with him. So Geralt deems it safe to go look for him.

And finds him and three of the men from the bar in confrontation with Jaskier.

One of them holds a knife, and Geralt can see Jaskiers eyes gleam even from where he stands at the door.

Shit.

The bard quickly and deftly disarms the man with the knife, just like Geralt showed him years ago when he still thought the bard was in need of assistance.

And this is where Geralt realizes Jaskier means business, because he tosses the knife up in the air and catches it again in a very showy fashion.

Shit shit shit, Geralt has to stop this now. He hasn't seen that move since they met Jaskiers arch nemesis, another bard named Valdo Marx. The other bard had sent brutes to trash Jaskiers beloved lute before a music competition and boy, did Jaskier _not_ take that well.

Jaskiers grin is feral, he is showing all of his teeth and whoever said the pen is sharper than the sword needs to have a talk with this man.  
“So tell me again lads. Do you still think _the lumpbrain with the eyes the colour of piss_ needs to come save _his whore_ bard? Really, is that the best you can think of?”

There is a fluttery feeling in Geralt's gut.   
One he normally refuses to acknowledge making a reappearance.

And this time it is impossible to ignore. It tingles, burns, coils, whatever creative metaphor you want to use.   
Geralt is not the poet here, he is but a victim. There is something wrong with his face, because he can feel his frown go away and be replaced by something soft and not at all fitting for a witcher.

That is also the moment when Jaskier looks up and spots him.

And fucking winks.

One of the brutes takes a step forward and that is Geralt's cue. Geralt moves at the same time as Jaskier.

Time to do hero stuff.

Body language may not be his forte, but he can read fighting. Jaskier will slaughter them.

So he rushes forwards, grabs Jaskier round the middle and hoists him over his shoulder.  
“Oii, what the _fuck_ Geralt?!” Jaskier protests, but Geralt pays him no heed.

Geralt tips his head in greeting when he passes the three angry men and with big steps walk them to the inn a few streets away. Luckily they seem in no mood to pursue them.

Jaskier splutters, flails his arms, and Geralt takes a firmer grip around his thighs to keep him from falling off.

“I can walk! I have legs! Let me down you absolute _lumpbrain_!” Jaskier complaints loudly and Geralt snorts.  
“Don’t forget _eyes colour of piss_ please. Promise not to run back and mutilate them?”  
Jaskier clicks his tongue and Geralt can practically feel the eyeroll happening.  
“ _Tch_. No.”  
“There you have your answer.” Geralt smiles, patting Jaskiers butt.

And then he have to forcibly make himself not freeze up, because that stirred up something in his brain he did not intend.

He just touched Jaskiers butt.

Jaskier seems to have the same struggles, because he lets himself be carried without more complaints.

And now it is kind of awkward.   
Should Geralt carry him all the way inside the inn?   
Put him down now, confirming how very awkward he suddenly made it?

Always helpful, Jaskier helps him make the decision.  
“Alright. I promise.” He sighs, and Geralt lets him down.

And something must have been fundamentally broken after that wink and that pat, Geralt has no filter between mouth and brain anymore.

“Will you walk beside me or do I need to hold your hand?” Geralt says. He must be drunk. That must be it.

“Stop teasing me.” Jaskier mutters, changing the grip on the knife he is still holdning.

“Or what?” Geralt smirks at Jaskier, and hell, did he learn nothing?

Jaskier whirls on him, pushing him up against a wall, knife still in hand.  
If Geralt really wanted, Jaskier wouldn’t have been able to do that.   
He can easily break the hold, push him away, but the thing is… he doesn’t want to.   
It’s thrilling to have him this close, to be at his mercy.

“Or _I_ will tease _you_.” Jaskier murmurs, his breath hot against Geralt's face.   
“I see the way you look at me. You like it when I talk back to them.”

Yes. Yes Geralt likes that. And fuck, he likes this too.

Jaskier leans in a little, their noses almost touching.   
They are almost of the same height, Geralt having only a few more inches on the bard.   
Jaskiers blue eyes miss nothing, a wide smirk breaking free on his lips.

“Say it, Geralt.” Jaskier whispers, and Jaskiers hands on his shoulders, his all-kind-of-pointy eyebrows, that fierce glint in his eyes, it does things to Geralt.

Geralt surgest forward, grabbing Jaskier and pulling him against himself.   
He kisses Jaskier desperately, and he can’t tell which of them is growling, but it doesn’t matter.  
Jaskier lets the knife fall and kiss him back, all teeth and tongue and fierceness.   
A hand is pulling at Geralt's tunic, seeking skin.

“They were right.” Geralt says between kisses. “Red isn’t your colour. You should take it off.”

Things are definitely still changing.

~~

Bonus:

Geralt is a peaceful man in general. His threshold is so much higher than his bards. But there are exceptions to every rule.

“Man, that is the dumbestlooking fucking horse I have ever seen.”  
“Hold my beer.” Geralt growls, pushing it over the table towards Jaskier on the other side of the table. Nobody talks about Roach like that.  
“Geralt! NO!”

**Author's Note:**

> Nobody talks shit about Roach. I will stab you.


End file.
